


i like my body

by evenso



Series: They Said It Better [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: After Season 8, E. E. Cummings - Freeform, Inspired by Poetry, Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Romance, sorta helpless Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:36:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenso/pseuds/evenso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas falls in love.  Then he falls.  Then he falls in love.  Then he falls into a routine.  Then he falls in love.</p><p>(Second in a set of three.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i like my body

Sensation. There’s... a lot of it.

Cas is so much luckier than his siblings. When he falls, he has friends he can call. He has memories of his time as Emmanuel, too, understands the concept of showering, knows he likes orange juice. He’s been in this body a long time, and he understands it pretty well.

It’s different, though, now that he’s locked in. One sensation should be less than the many he used to feel all the time, but it’s more. Orange juice isn’t sweet, it’s bitter, and sour, and sweet, and grainy, and watery... and it doesn’t all taste the same. Even cartons with the same pictures on them, they don’t taste the same, no glass is ever exactly the same, and that’s fascinating. The standard wisdom in heaven was that humans were unpredictable and erratic, but now Cas thinks, is it any wonder? They can’t even plan what they will be tasting in a glass of orange juice. Also, if he drinks too much orange juice, he discovers that his stomach hurts. That’s not enjoyable. 

Toast makes it feel better, but only, apparently, when Dean makes it for him. He watches Sam make it and it’s the exact same steps but it doesn’t taste right, and no one wants him cooking anything himself. Over and over he tries, and Dean yanks his hands away from the stovetop and the knives and tells him, “Watch out!” because there’s knowing about danger and feeling it, and Cas’ hands don’t skip carefully over the things that he’s never had to painfully learn to avoid. Dean tells him to sit down and says, “What do you want?” Toast. Dean’s hands navigate the minefield easily, dance over danger. He makes toast look easy.

Cas’ jaw flexes - open, a stretch, closed, a tight clench, his body feeds itself on instinct but his mind is whirring, these movements are so small, so big. Dean’s jaw works too, across the table, at its own pace which is not the same and why do bodies move at different speeds? Dean’s lips look soft but Cas remembers how hard the collision of knuckles with teeth was, and he wonders how that would feel now. Probably it would hurt, hard into hard, but what if he touched softly, would they be soft then? Can something be soft and hard at the same time? He forgets to chew, because another thing he’s learning is the mind can shut the body down, and Dean laughs and says, “Dude, close your mouth.”

Dean puts an elbow on the table and the muscles in his shoulder shift, he’s stronger than this wiry body getting weaker by the day because its owner - its inhabitant - because Cas doesn’t know how to maintain the strength it - fuck, he - had. This is not a representation for human eyes, this is not even a favorite vehicle like Dean and his car, this is him, this is it, this is all there is. It can’t even be a dream because he never used to have those, never used to sleep, and so now, every morning, the fact that it’s morning, that there are eight hours missing, is another reminder that this is it, this is very much not a dream.

And every time, it’s different - he’s sweated in his sleep, or he threw off his blanket and is cold, or his face is smashed into his pillow and there are creases on his cheek he has to spend an anxious hour watching before they fade. His clothing - and there’s so much of it, he felt that was unnecessary until he discovered how much he dislikes doing laundry - doesn’t wear the same way each time, and how can that be possible? It’s the same shirt on the same body, right? Every breath he takes is a unique event, and it’s exhausting. It’s all so fucking exhausting, and when Dean finds him sitting on the edge of his bed, tugging at the laces of his shoes, which are refined torture devices he cannot make comfortable today, and he has been trying for thirty minutes, he tries to explain what’s wrong and learns two more things.

First, talking about it doesn’t make it better, it makes it worse, it makes it bigger and more real and eventually takes away all your breath even though you don’t actually suffocate. It just feels like you’re choking. This is also unpleasant.

Second, in a human body, the concept of personal space finally makes sense. All those tiny hairs, there are tiny hairs all over him and when Dean gets close enough they all stand up at once, like little antennas sending back buzzing little shocks through his nerves and telling him all about it, when Dean breathes, how warm he might be, he’s closecloseclose. Maybe it’s an adaptation for fighting because part of Cas wants to shove him away but he doesn’t, he pulls him closer instead, because the other part thinks, of all the sensations that could possibly be overwhelming him at the moment, this one feels the best.

**Author's Note:**

> “i like my body”, by e. e. cummings
> 
> i like my body when it is with your  
> body. It is so quite a new thing.  
> Muscles better and nerves more.  
> i like your body. i like what it does,  
> i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
> of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
> -firm-smooth ness and which i will  
> again and again and again  
> kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
> i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
> of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes  
> over parting flesh... And eyes big love-crumbs,
> 
> and possibly i like the thrill  
> of under me you quite so new


End file.
